


There is no noble pleasure

by CoffeeWithConsequences



Series: Paper Tigers [8]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Forced Orgasm, Inception Bingo, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution, Sex Work, Smut, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 13:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/pseuds/CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: PWP. Doing sex work in a dream, Eames discovers a new way to please both Arthur and himself.





	There is no noble pleasure

**Author's Note:**

> This is my eighth Inception Bingo story for the year, and it covers three of my squares--"prostitution/sex work," "voyeurism," and "forced orgasm."
> 
> This story takes place in the [Paper Tigers](https://archiveofourown.org/series/985980) universe. I'd put it somewhere between [Split Open and Without Shame](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14582850) and [The fearful are caught as often as the bold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15312609). That context is not really necessary to enjoy this, though, as it's pretty short on plot.

Arthur squirmed as he watched. He’d seen Eames do this before, but not since they’d started their thing. And not as himself.

They’d argued about it all through the planning. Arthur thought of ten other ways to do the job. Eames insisted that this was the easiest (which was true). Finally, when Arthur had just explained yet another convoluted potential plan, Eames turned to him in surprise. “Arthur,” he asked slowly, “does this idea bother you? Me doing this? Because I’ve done it before. It’s not a problem.”

Arthur scowled. “No. It’s fine. I don’t care what you do.”

Eames grinned. “That’s why you keep coming up with increasingly ridiculous alternatives?” For a moment, Arthur was afraid Eames was going to do something sappy, like hug him.

“Alright,” Arthur finally agreed, grudgingly. “I don’t like it.”

Eames’ grinned widened. “Darling, are you...jealous?” His eyes sparkled.

“No! It’s just...distasteful. It’s like prostitution or something.”

Eames frowned. “It’s not like prostitution, pet. It **is** prostitution.” He shrugged. “Take away the dream and the theft, and I’m still having sex for money.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “If you think about it that way, how can you say it’s fine?”

Eames smirked. “I’ve been far worse than a prostitute, Arthur.” He considered. “Seems to me having sex is always about getting something, whether it’s an orgasm or the upper hand. At least in this kind of transaction, the exchange is an obvious one.”

Arthur had no idea what to say, so he let it go. Let Eames make his own decisions--he would anyway.

Which is why Arthur was now stuck in someone else’s dream, watching Eames seduce the mark. It had all gone perfectly to plan, Eames sidling up to the man in a dream hotel bar, wetting his bottom lip, making eye contact, reaching out a big hand to casually touch. Textbook.

Arthur watched the whole thing through a security feed. Eames took the mark to his room. Eames smiled, made easy conversation. Eames slipped to his knees. Arthur swallowed around the lump in his throat. Eames looked up through his eyelashes, not at the mark, but at the camera on which he knew Arthur was watching. He winked, then sucked the man’s dick down.

Every time Arthur played this scene out in his mind, he stopped before this part. He imagined how sick he’d feel, how the jealousy would burn in his veins, how he’d be disgusted or horrified or ashamed-by-proxy. Now that it was happening, he felt none of those things. Instead, he felt... _aroused_?

Arthur glanced down at his lap, momentarily disbelieving. He was wearing his own clothes in this dream, and the trousers were straining over his growing erection. As his eyes moved back to the screen, where the mark’s hands were in Eames’ hair, where Eames was making low, hot noises in his throat, Arthur’s mouth opened in gasping amazement.

It had never even occurred to Arthur that he might like to watch. It was a kink he’d never thought to explore. But now, watching Eames expertly take their mark apart, watching him put on a show not only for his partner, but for Arthur, he couldn’t believe what he’d been missing.

When Eames and Arthur fucked, Arthur was typically too focused on his own pleasure, and on Eames’, to watch what was happening. Now, though, he could see everything, from the twists of Eames’s hard muscled shoulders to the way the mark’s knees were beginning to wobble as Eames’ mouth assaulted him. Arthur knew how that felt, and seeing someone else taken apart that way didn’t make him jealous so much as light a slow-burning fire in his groin. When this was over, when Eames next did that to him, he’d know how it looked from the outside.

By the time Eames pulled back, stopping before the mark came, Arthur’s hand was pressed hard against the bulge in his trousers. He was trying to talk himself out of unfastening his flies, but his resolve weakened as Eames crawled onto the bed, calling teasingly after the mark to hurry.

Eames was on his knees, his back arched, his legs open. He turned over his shoulder and watched as the mark steadied himself. Then, as the man pushed inside his body, Eames stared at the camera.

Arthur watched Eames get fucked. He didn’t even try to resist anymore, unfastening his trousers and pulling out his cock without looking, his eyes glued to the screen. Eames’ eyes never left the camera, and Arthur felt as if he, too, were being watched. The mark fucked Eames, Arthur fucked his hand, and Eames seemed to bounce between them, smirking.

He’d known, Arthur realized, his climax building. Eames had known this would get him off. Goddamn him. Arthur was still cursing when he came into his fist.

They didn’t talk about it after they woke up. Eames bit back his smile at the wet spot on the front of Arthur’s trousers, a match for the one the still-sleeping mark was sporting. They finished the job, cleaned up, parted ways. Arthur was uncomfortable, but thankful for the camouflage his trench coat provided.

Later, they met up in Arthur’s hotel room. They debriefed the rest of the job quickly--everything had gone off beautifully. Then Eames couldn’t resist anymore. He turned to Arthur with eyes that were equal parts hot and amused. “Any change of opinion on sex work, pet?”

Arthur swallowed. “I’m not going to lie, Mr. Eames. Seeing you take it was a pleasure.” He met Eames’ heated eyes with his own, challenging. “I underestimated what a good whore you make.”

Eames rolled his eyes.

“You like it too, don’t you?” Arthur asked. The question had been running circles in his mind all afternoon. “You like selling yourself to someone. You like seeing what you can take from them while they think they’re taking from you.”

Eames raised his eyebrows. “Well observed. Yes.”

Arthur marveled at Eames’ willingness to admit it, his complete lack of shame. “Do you want me to pay you?” he asked. He was surprised at the little shiver the idea gave him.

Eames laughed. “I think we’re past that. What I get from you isn’t money.”

Arthur wondered, as Eames stepped forward and started to unbutton his shirt, what exactly it was Eames got from him.

“You liked watching me on my knees,” Eames murmured as he undressed Arthur. “But you don’t want me on my knees for you, do you?” He didn’t wait for a response. “I have something else in mind.”

Arthur was quiet as Eames arranged his body. He was naked, laying on his back on the bed. He was already half-hard.

“The thing I take from you, Arthur,” Eames explained as he slowly undressed, “is power.” He tilted his head and watched Arthur’s face. “You give it more than I take it, I suppose. But when I fuck you? When I tear you apart, and you just let me?” He shook his head in amazement. “That’s power. No matter what else happens, no matter how many times I play and lose, I always have it with me. You can never take it back.”

Arthur didn’t speak. Eames walked toward the bed, naked now, proud of his body and not afraid to show it. “Tonight,” he said slowly, “I am going to make you come.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You always make me come, Eames.”

“No, darling,” Eames said. “I usually _help_ you come. Tonight, I **make** you.”

Arthur frowned, not sure yet what was happening. Eames explained, beginning to idly stroke Arthur’s cock as he did. “You are going to try your damndest not to come, Arthur. You’re going to do everything you can to keep from coming.” He smiled. “Earlier, in the dream, how long did it take you? Only a minute or two, right? You jerked yourself off fast while you watched me get fucked?”

Arthur nodded.

“Well, this is going to be the opposite,” Eames explained. “You’re going to watch me get fucked again. And you’re going to love it. You’re going to want to touch me, you’re going to want to be touched. You’re going to want to tug that gorgeous cock until you explode. And you’re going to do everything you can to keep that from happening.” He leaned a bit closer, speaking into Arthur’s ear. “You’re going to fail.”

Arthur blinked. “You’re...someone is going to come in here and fuck you?”

Eames nodded. “Glad you caught that part, pet.” He rose, grabbing his phone from the table and sending a quick text. “Now tell me, are you comfortable?”

Just like in the dream, the whole scene felt unreal to Arthur until it was actually happening. Eames replayed what he had done in the dream, this time focusing on the man he’d apparently texted. While their mark had been middle-aged, going flabby around the middle, his hair receding, this man was near-perfect. He was tall and broad and well-muscled, his skin dark and sporting ink. He made a beautiful counterpoint to Eames.

As soon as the man walked into the room, Eames began completely ignoring Arthur. The man never acknowledged him at all. Instead, he directed Eames, giving him short, curt orders, as if Eames was the prostitute.

Eames obeyed each order instantly. He sucked the man’s big cock, allowing his hair to be pulled, his face to be fucked until he gasped and gagged. The man was mostly quiet, breathing steadily and giving quiet instruction. Finally, he pulled Eames back by his hair. “Enough,” he growled. “I’ll have you now.”

Eames was directly in Arthur’s sight line, but didn’t meet his eyes as he got to his knees. Eames’ cock hung heavy. Arthur’s was so hard it ached. He could touch it, he knew. He could get himself off and it would be even better than it had been in the dream. But that wasn’t the game. He gritted his teeth.

The man wasn’t gentle. Eames grimaced and groaned on the first few thrusts, arching away. The man slapped his ass, hard enough to raise a red mark, and told him to be still. Arthur gasped, burning as if the slap had been to his own skin. He was panting, his knuckles white where he gripped the bed, fighting not to touch himself.

As the man began to pick up his pace, Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes away from Eames. Eames’ eyes were closed, head tipped back, hips canted at a near-impossible angle. There was pain and bliss on his face. Arthur throbbed and heard himself whine.

Then Eames opened his eyes. He said nothing and made no noise, but he met Arthur’s gaze. As the man fucked into Eames harder, Eames examined Arthur, his eyes rolling over Arthur’s body, stilling on his straining cock. Eames smiled, groaned, lowered his hand between his legs.

Watching Eames pleasure himself while the gorgeous man fucked him, Arthur worried he might actually come without being touched at all. He could never remember being so hard, or wanting so badly. It hurt. His mind spun, trying desperately to think of a way to avoid it. He tried to think non-sexy thoughts: double-breasted 80s suits, dirty socks, Cobb. Nothing worked. He was making noise, panting and groaning and whining. Eames was too, now, almost mimicking Arthur, pumping furiously into his hand while the man behind him pounded in.

“Arthur,” Eames said slowly, licking his lips and watching Arthur’s face carefully. “I’m going to come soon. I am going to come while this bloke fucks me like I belong to him. And here’s the thing, pet? You’re going to come, too. Even though you’re going to try not to.”

Arthur saw the man change his angle and Eames groaned, pushing back instinctively, unable to talk for a moment. After a few beats, he spoke again. “You’re going to come when I do. Do you know why, Arthur?”

Arthur couldn’t answer. He was shaking, his eyes swimming, sweat pouring off him. He thought of Eames being fucked in the dream, and Eames in front of him now, only a few feet away. He could smell Eames’ sweat, smell the heat on the two men's bodies. He could hear the slap of skin as he watched Eames begin to vibrate, his orgasm clearly coming.

“You’re going to come, Arthur,” Eames said again, his voice mesmerizing over the sound of flesh hitting flesh. “You’re going to come, because you come when I tell you. Even when you don’t want to.”

Arthur gasped. The easy command in Eames’ voice, him taking charge even while he was on his knees, open to someone else, shot through him. His hips pulsed, body arching away from the bed. “Eames,” he whined. “Eames!”

Eames smiled. The man groaned. Eames’ fist flew. “OK, love,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m going to come now.” He caught Arthur’s eyes and held them. “Come for me, Arthur.”

Arthur’s hand moved of its own accord. He’d every intention of keeping it pressed hard against the bed, but it truly did appear beyond his control as he grasped himself. He didn’t even stroke. All he’d done was clench his cock in his fist and he came, shaking and gasping, shooting painfully onto his sweaty belly and the hotel comforter. He closed his eyes without meaning to, the air and light around him fuzzing at the edges. “Eames!” he heard himself call again, louder than he’d expected possible.

When Arthur came back to himself, the handsome man was gone. Eames was sitting next to him on the bed, wiping his belly with a hand towel. “There you are,” he said, his voice teasing.

Arthur stared at him with wide eyes. “That was…”

Eames nodded. “That it was.” He looked Arthur up and down. “Should have thought to make a bet on it, but honestly, darling, I wasn’t sure it would work.”

Arthur shook his head. “Not like you to doubt yourself.”

A look Arthur couldn’t place crossed Eames’ features, but it was gone as soon as it appeared. “True.” He grinned. “I ought to have known.” He reached a finger out and brushed a strand of loose hair away from Arthur’s forehead. “I’ve got your number, Arthur. You’re fucked.”

To his own surprise, Arthur smiled. “That may well be true, Mr. Eames.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please come visit me on [Tumblr](https://coffeewithconsequences.tumblr.com/) or read the rest of my fic here at [Archive of Our Own](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/works)!


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